


tommyinnit, rockstar

by ghostbandaids



Series: tommyinnit, extraordinaire [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Creative Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Guitars, Happy TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Humor, IRL Fic, Light Angst, Musician Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Musicians, Oneshot, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), but barely enough to tag it, his parents are actually nice in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbandaids/pseuds/ghostbandaids
Summary: Tommyinnit was going to be a rock star.Well, Tommyinnit was going to be a rock star once he mastered basic chord progression. He could do it. He could. He just needed more practice.“Wilbur,” he groaned, flopping onto his bed. “My fingers really fucking hurt.”“Poor Tommy,” Wilbur replied over the call they’d been in for hours, voice too consoling to be genuine. “Poor, injured, Toms. You’re never going to recover from this one.”Tommy learns how to play the guitar and creates an anonymous account to post his music on, but when you have hundreds of thousands of viewers, nothing stays secret for long...
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: tommyinnit, extraordinaire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181198
Comments: 82
Kudos: 980
Collections: Completed stories I've read, Found family to make me feel something





	tommyinnit, rockstar

**Author's Note:**

> no, andy, i did not plagiarize hannah montana
> 
> i currently have creative tommyinnit brainrot - planning to make this a series (think art/cooking/skateboarding) i will singlehandedly make the creative tommyinnit tag a thing (:
> 
> i didn't edit this much, and the mini-plot is only in the last couple snippets, but I hope you enjoy!

The guitar was a Christmas gift from Tommy’s parents, wrapped in shiny green paper, the shape unmistakable and resting under the tree when he walked down the stairs in his pajamas. 

A grin spread across his face. 

“For me?” he asked, glancing over to where they sat on the couch. His dad nodded and gestured towards it, one hand holding a coffee mug and the other a camera.

“Open it!” his mum said. 

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He held it gently in his arms as he pulled the paper off and caught a glimpse of its glossy, red finish. 

This wasn’t one of Wilbur’s muted, acoustic guitars. No, this was the real deal, 

“You buy everything you need for streaming,” his mom said while his dad snapped a photo of his ecstatic face, “but you always talk about how cool Wilbur’s music was so we thought maybe you’d want to give it a try.”

“Thank you,” he said, admiring the thing in his hands. “It’s perfect.” The frets shone and the light reflected off its glossy surface as he twisted it back and forth.

He smiled. 

Tommyinnit was going to be a rockstar. 

Well, Tommyinnit was going to be a rockstar once he mastered basic chord progression. He could do it.  _ He could _ . He just needed more practice. 

“Wilbur,” he groaned, flopping onto his bed. “My fingers really fucking hurt.”

“Poor Tommy,” Wilbur replied over the call they’d been in for hours, voice too consoling to be genuine. “Poor, injured, Toms. You’re never going to recover from this one.”

“I think I’m dying,” he said, facedown, “I can’t feel my hands, Wil.”

“What will you do?” the man cried. “You won’t be able to use your keyboard! You’ll have to quit streaming and all your viewers will watch me instead!”

“They’d never betray me like that,” Tommy said, sitting up and pulling the guitar into his lap again. “They’ll all leave Twitch in mourning. Now tell me which chords to play.”

“E major,” Wilbur said, whooping in celebration when Tommy played it right. “Now D,” he continued. 

The chord was horribly out of tune.

“Nothing on the first three strings for that one, try it again.”

“I think that it was right the first time,” Tommy muttered, stretching his fingers and trying to form the little triangle that was the D-chord. “And I think that my fingers are too small for this.”

“If your fingers are too small, I don’t know how  _ anyone  _ plays the guitar. You’re a real big man—what, like six feet tall?”

“Excuse you,” Tommy replied, feigning anger. “I’m 6’3.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Do you remember what A major looks like?”

They went over the basic chords until Tommy was pretty sure he’d dream about them. His fingers did hurt, but he didn’t really mind — certainly not as much as he complained about it. He was just glad that there was another thing he could use as an excuse when he wanted to call Wilbur.

“Y’know,” Wilbur said as they were getting ready to say goodnight. I’m glad that you’re learning. I always wished that I had a little brother to teach—“

“I’m tearing up! You’ve made me cry!”

“—and now I do.”

“Thanks, Wil,” he said, smiling. “Hope you don’t expect me to pay you, though.”

“You’re not going to pay me?” the man gasped, “I’m insulted. This lesson is over.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “Big Brother Wilbur is going to have to teach for free.”

“Fine,” Wilbur sighed, smile evident in his voice. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!”

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Wilbur had said, how he was like a little brother.  _ A little brother!  _ the voice in his head crowed. He’d always been an only child, always wanted a sibling.

He practiced the chords for hours after they hung up, the smile from the sentence still stretched across his face. And when he went to sleep, fingers aching, it was still there.

He’d never sung for anyone. Not his viewers, not his friends, not even Wilbur. 

There’d been a couple of terrifying moments — one on Techno’s stream where he didn’t realize that the dude was already live when he joined the VC. Other than that, the only times that he’d sung for his fanbase was when he was joking, pitching his voice too high or loud, not trying at all. 

If he was honest, he avoided it because he was worried that even if he put effort in, he would sound bad. In front of hundreds of thousands of people, the last thing that he wanted to be labeled as a bad singer. 

His parents, though, got the real deal. The Tommyinnit Show, night after night. 

In the shower, eating dinner — yelled at because his mouth was full — in the car, full volume. The guitar amp was plugged into his headphones when he practiced at night but during the day, his voice and chords filled the house. 

Electric strumming and belting at the top of his lungs, songs that Wilbur recommended, and the rock stuff he heard on the oldies radio. 

And he’d never spent so much time singing before, but he realized that he liked it. Maybe even  _ loved  _ it, creating music. As a kid, he’d been in choir and gotten lessons. Didn’t even think that his voice was that bad, honestly — maybe a little aggressive for the softer songs, but he made it work. 

“Are you ever going to sing?” Wilbur asked as Tommy learned the chords for a song so that he could accompany Wil. 

“Nah,” he said, scrunching his nose. “I don’t do that shit.”

“I think that you could if you tried.”

“When have you ever seen me try?”

“Good point,” Wilbur said, laughing. “But don’t give up on the idea. I think that it’s about time for a new heartthrob to emerge in the music world.”

“Better watch out, Wilby,” Tommy said, trying to sound ominous. “There’s not enough room for the two of us.”

“You say that as if you’re a threat.”

“I could be! Just you wait.”

Wilbur was joking, right? He didn’t actually think that Tommy could sing.

_ Did he?  _

The idea was surprisingly appealing.

The first time Tommy recorded himself playing was more unconscious choice than anything. Making videos was easy, natural. And he was just messing around, singing songs with extra bravado to see what he needed to work on, whether his timing was okay. 

It helped that he had a professional sound-recording setup.

Watching it over, some of his chords were a little shaky and sometimes, the notes drifted too high and made his voice squeak. But most of the time, he thought that he sounded  _ good.  _ Of course, Tommy had never been particularly insecure so he could be wrong, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, he was a good singer.

“You should name your guitar,” Wilbur suggested one night. It sounded like a good idea to Tommy. 

“I have the perfect name,” he said.

“You’re going to say Clementine, aren’t you?”

“What—why would you think that?”

“What were you going to say, Tommy?” 

“...Clementine.”

Wilbur laughed. “Clementine it is.”

The first time he posted a video was much more deliberate than the first time he recorded one. 

He was careful to make sure that the camera angle never tilted past his torso and that he recorded outside, with the sky in the background. He grabbed an oversized sweater from his dad’s closet, something that Tommyinnit would never wear. 

Still, it felt risky. 

_ What’s the worst thing that could happen?  _ he thought. He just wanted to make music, and the odds of anyone making the connection — or even seeing his videos in the first place — was incredibly small. These days, everyone was trying to get famous. 

Tommy didn’t want to get famous or anything — he already had. He was just worried that his devoted fans would find it odd if out of nowhere, his content changed. After all, Tommyinnit didn’t sing. Tommyinnit made loud, brash jokes that were about the extent of his creativity. 

It was hard to be put in a box like that, sometimes.

His finger hovered over the post button of some indie cover. He hadn’t talked in the video, just added a cover slide that slowly faded to his arms holding the guitar. The account he’d made was completely disconnected, completely anonymous. 

No one would find out.

It was muscle memory that pushed the button in the end

There was something reassuring about the fact that when the video uploaded, there was no influx of thousands of views within seconds. His account had no subscribers, no people to notify. 

He wondered if anyone would even  _ see  _ the channel. Not that he would be upset if it stayed untouched; maybe he’d send Wilbur the link sometime. 

He went to sleep with an empty notifications box.

In the morning, there were thirty or so views, a couple of likes, and a single comment. 

_ You sound so good!  _ it said,  _ can’t wait to see what you do next (: _

Somehow, it made him happier than any of the praise he’d gotten on his actual channel, the one that had videos with pages of compliments and comments to scroll through. Because this was  _ real,  _ someone who watched an absolute nobody’s channel and liked it enough to comment.

It buoyed him through the next couple of days, and he went back to look at it more than a couple of times. 

He didn’t hesitate as much before uploading the next video. 

Pushing the  _ post  _ button was liberating. 

“I can tell that you’ve been practicing,” Wilbur said the next time they called. 

“You can?” Tommy asked. 

“You sound good.”

“Really?”

“No. You sound awful,” Wilbur answered, laughing. “Now come play something for Phil and Techno so that I can show off my teaching skills.”

He accompanied Wilbur on an actually-pretty-decent rendition of  _ Your New Boyfriend  _ and grinned the whole time. When they finished, he let out a celebratory whoop. 

“That—” Phil started, “—was actually pretty good. I’m impressed.”

“Huh. I was preparin’ to lie,” Techno said. “Because I thought it was going to be bad—but it wasn't.”

“Oh sure, like I’m bad at anything,” Tommy said. “I’m a professional now—I’m going to quit everything and pursue my musical dreams.”

“You might have to sing to do that,” Wilbur said.

“Nah,” Tommy answered. “I don’t sing.”

“If you say so.”

_ loved this one,  _ the comment in his inbox said.  _ you’re doing great! <3 _

With all the time he spent practicing the guitar, his grades had started to take a bit of a fall — well, a plummet. Maybe more of a dive. 

It was kind of a problem since his excuse for streaming less was that he was spending more time on school. He  _ did  _ force Techno to edit papers, and Wilbur was pretty good at helping him with history, but with all the time he spent “studying” they probably expected him to be doing better.

_ Oh well,  _ he thought. Tommyinnit had never been much of a scholar anyway. 

He was a musician, and he made new videos for his small-but-loyal music account more often than his main one, something that he only felt a little guilty about. It was like the old days when his streams were tiny and his videos of bad-quality play-throughs only got a couple of views. It was nice. Less pressure. 

He liked it. 

“Why does it matter if I fail tests—” he asked his mom, “—if I’m going to be famous someday?

“You’re already famous,” she answered. “And you’re doing a great job.”

He looked at the guitar across the room and when their eyes met again, she knew that he was talking about a different kind of famous, something with stage lights and a metronome track and not a view count and primes. 

She smiled softly. 

“I think a tutor might be a good idea,” she said. “But let me know if you need anything for music. Backup vocals? I can do backup vocals!”

He told her that he’d think about the backup vocals — a lie. What kind of guy had his mom in his music? Not a Big Man, that was for sure. 

So Tommyinnit got a tutor and decided to send his mom the link to his Youtube account, the music one. 

She and his dad sat together at the kitchen table and watched his videos. Every. Single. One. 

Twice. 

Once without talking and once where they paused incessantly to compliment every aspect of his singing. The sound of his own voice made him cringe a bit, but the rush of pride that trickled from his head down into his chest made up for it. 

“I’m so proud,” his mom said. 

“You really can do everything,” his dad said. 

He batted his hands, fought the compliments off with self-deprecating comments that they immediately rebutted. 

Tried to keep the embarrassingly-large smile off his face but didn’t succeed. 

Of course, it was a fucking Wilbur Soot cover that did him in. 

He’d gotten cocky in the last couple of months, posting video after video with no sign that people recognized him at all. Sometimes, his chin dipped into the frame, but his face never did, so the people that ended up subscribing to him were just people that liked his music.

He knew that posting something of Wilbur’s would be one step closer to a discovery, but he couldn’t resist. He played Wilbur’s songs all the time, had a couple recorded and ready. Even if Tommyinnit fans watched him, they wouldn’t know. How would they know?

His account had a couple hundred subscribers, and he was happy to see that there was no sign of  _ inniter _ s or  _ notfound _ s or  _ wastaken _ s on the list. 

_ Post video.  _

The response was a little larger than normal, but the comments were all positive:  _ oh i love wilbur’s stuff, this was great!  _ and  _ listened to this on repeat for a while hngggg. _

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

So it wasn’t actually posting the video that got him, it was Wilbur’s media share that night. 

When he saw the familiar video pop up in the corner of Wilbur’s screen, he took in a sharp breath and hid his surprise with fake coughs, cursing whatever devoted subscriber had paid money to put it there

“Oh!” Wilbur said. “A cover!”

And Tommy was lucky that he hadn’t sung for Wilbur before because his voice was almost-recognizable, but he didn’t think that the man would realize it. 

He was forced to cringe through watching himself sing. At least Wilbur was smiling because his entire body was painfully tense and he hadn’t taken a breath since the video appeared.

“That was nice,” Wilbur said when it was finished. “Kid’s got potential. Maybe a mod can link his channel so people can go support him?”

Tommy dropped his head into his hands.

_ Fuck.  _

The subscriber notifications started streaming in and he had to turn them off so that his inbox wasn’t swamped. Nobody’d made the connection  _ yet,  _ but his channel had just gotten a lot riskier. 

“Tommy?” he heard Wilbur ask. “You’ve been quiet, you alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered faintly. “Yeah—I’m, I’m fine.”

“Did you hear that cover?”

“Mhm,” Tommy said.

“It was good, right? I think that Dream has inspired a lot of people in the community who want to produce anonymous content.”

“It wasn’t—” Tommy started before stopping himself.  _ Fucking Dream.  _ Tommyinnit was his own man and had  _ never  _ been inspired by Dream, of all people. “Maybe he just wanted to be mysterious or some shit.”

“Maybe so,” Wilbur agreed.

Tommy laughed nervously. Wilbur laughed at Tommy’s awkwardness. The whole time, he watched his subscriber count tick up and up and up and wanted to bang his head against the screen. 

There were fucking  _ inniter _ s in his subscriber list now, and he was stuck with them. 

Wilbur ended the stream and they stayed in the call, Wilbur asking Tommy about schoolwork and Tommy asking Wilbur when they were going to meet up again. 

And then Wilbur said, “You know that media share—the cover?”

“Yeah?” Tommy asked. 

“Doesn’t your guitar look like that one?” 

Tommy froze. 

“Clementine?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “They do look the same—but I’d never be caught dead playing your shit music.”

Wilbur laughed, and the moment was over. Tommy forced himself to breathe and change the subject.

_ Wilbur Soot has subscribed to your channel,  _ Youtube cheerily informed him a couple of minutes after they left the call. Tommy was so close to saying something, but it felt too late at this point, like he was trapped. He didn’t say anything at all. 

_ What’s the worst thing that could happen?  _ he asked himself, a question that he thought about a lot these days. 

He wondered how long he could keep his channel a secret. 

Five days.

His channel was a secret for five full days after the media share.

He’d kind of hoped it would last longer.

It went like this:

“Check for Primes! I might stream tomorrow but you never know so turn those notifications—”

There was a giant crash from behind him. His guitar stand, balanced on top of a stack of textbooks, had finally succumbed to gravity and sent the instrument tumbling to the ground.

Almost without thinking, he stood up and grabbed it, checking to make sure that it’d survived the fall.

Then he realized that his thumbnail camera was on and pointed straight at him, that the cherry-red guitar he was holding in his arms looked a lot like the one on the account Wilbur had told people to support. 

“Uh—” he said eloquently, not sure if he could get away with denial but willing to try it out anyway. “Nice guitar, yeah?”

He set it gently on his bed and, ignoring the chat’s screaming, ending the stream. 

**Philza** Today at 8:00 pm

Tommy

Why are people freaking out about your guitar?

It’s trending lmao

**Tommy** Today at 8:05

They are Stupid

Not my guitar they just look the same.

**Philza** Today at 8:05 pm

The same as what?

**Wilbur** Today at 8:05 pm

someone’s cover that got mediashared on my stream

did kind of look like you, tommy

so they have a point

**Technoblade** Today at 8:06 pm

Tommy has been leading a secret life as a singer??! (not clickbait)

**Tommy** Today at 8:06

Fuck off Technoblade 

Was not me.

**Philza** Today at 8:08 pm

Tommy

**Tommy** Today at 8:08

Philza Minecraft

**Philza** Today at 8:08 pm

Just found the channel that everyone is talking about…

**Tommy** Today at 8:08

?

**Philza** Today at 8:09 pm

That’s literally your driveway

The background of the video

**Tommy** Today at 8:09

No

**Philza** Today at 8:09 pm

I’ve been to your house

**Tommy** Today at 8:09

You’re just being creepy now

Stop talking. 

**Wilbur** Today at 8:09 pm

tommy??

it looks a lot like you

**Tommy** is typing

**Technoblade** Today at 8:15

These are all slightly better-than-average, by the way

**Tommy** is typing

**Technoblade** Today at 8:17

That was a compliment you can stop typing now

**Philza** Today at 8:20

Tommy?

**Tommy** is typing

**Philza** Today at 8:22

They’re good videos mate

This is you right?

Never heard you sing but they sound like you 

**Wilbur** Today at 8:23 pm

they sound good toms!! really good!!

i finally have competition

Now that i know you can sing, are we going to do vocal lessons too?

you don’t even have to pay me

**Technoblade** Today at 8:23

Think of the views I could get if we did a music collab

**Wilbur** Today at 8:24 pm

want to call?

**Tommy** status: offline

Tommy slumped against the bathroom wall, phone clenched in his hands as he watched the messages from his friends pour in. 

And he felt so  _ stupid.  _ Because, honestly, what had he been expecting? When two hundred and fifty thousand people watched him pick up a guitar, there were some bound to make the connection. 

When two hundred fifty thousand people watched him, nothing stayed secret, period — they even knew his deodorant brand. 

It wasn’t like he’d been planning for the channel to stay hidden forever but seeing the subscriber count skyrocket and thinking about all the people listening to his voice filled his stomach with heavy nervousness. 

He didn’t read the comments, and he was tempted to delete the channel completely, finger hovering over the button. But underneath the fear of having anonymity ripped away from him, he was still proud of his work. He’d put a lot of time into it, couldn’t quite bear to erase it all. 

**Wilbur** is calling

**Tommy** can’t talk right now

**Wilbur** is calling 

**Tommy** can’t talk right now

**Wilbur** is calling 

He sighed, admired Wilbur’s persistence. Then he answered the call. 

“Hello?” Wilbur said after a couple of moments of silence over the line. 

“Hi,” he replied, so quiet that he wasn’t sure Wilbur would hear him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Wilbur asked. 

“Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t?”

“Not really,” Wilbur answered. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier.”

“You must think that I’m an idiot.”

“Optimistic, maybe—thinking that no one would find the channel,” Wilbur replied. “But it’s not stupid to want things for yourself.”

“I don’t know why I did it,” Tommy said. “Or why I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want it to be Tommyinnit that everyone listened to.”

“You wanted it to be Tommy,” Wilbur said. 

“Yeah. Just Tommy,” Tommy echoed. “Was it—“ he started, “Are—are they good?” 

“Oh Toms,” Wilbur replied. “They’re  _ so  _ good. I’ve already downloaded them all.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I’m so proud.”

“Of me?”

“Who else would I be talking about, dumbass?”

“Oh—I think that I’m still in shock.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Wilbur said reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. They’re good videos, good songs—you should be proud of what you’ve made.”

“They were  _ mine.  _ And now they’re not anymore.”

“They’re still yours.”

“Are they, though? Now they belong to the—“ He checked the channel subscriptions, still going up based on nothing but supported speculation. “—300k subs and counting.”

“No,” Wilbur said. “You were never making music for them. You were making it for yourself, and that doesn’t have to change.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. Then he repeated it, stronger. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Do you want to lie about it? We can back you up—there’s really not much in the videos that screams  _ Tommyinnit _ .”

“It’s alright. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think that I’ll stream—might as well get it over with, right?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Wilbur said. “I’ve already told you this but It’s like watching my little brother, y’know—seeing you do this.”

“Fuck, Wil—you can’t just say shit like that.” He sniffed. 

“I can say whatever I want,” Wilbur answered, laughing. “It’s time to calm the masses, Toms.”

“I got this,” Tommy said. 

“You do,” Wilbur replied. 

**Tommy** Today at 8:51

Get your song suggestions ready, boys

He went downstairs and grabbed one of the sweaters he’d worn in a video. Its heavy, knitted weight was comforting on his shoulders as he curled his feet underneath him in his chair and grabbed his headphones. 

_ Go Live. _

As viewers started to rejoin, he changed the stream to  _ Just Chatting  _ and set the title to “TOMMY IS A ROCKSTAR??!!”

“Hi guys,” he said when there were enough of them watching. “Um—It’s just Tommy now, no Tommyinnit tonight, so it’s alright if you want to head out.”

He made a shooing motion with his hands and the viewer count jumped up by a couple thousand. 

“Looks like you’re all staying! Great!” he said sarcastically. “So I think we can guess what this stream is about, yeah?”

**Wilbur Soot:** TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG 

“Thanks Wilbur, now please shut up—”

**Wilbur Soot:** TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG 

**Wilbur Soot:** TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG TOMMY GUITAR POG 

“Sorry Wil, I think you’ve just lost chat privileges—silence him, mods.”

**Philza:** TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM: TOMMY GUITAR POG :catJAM:

“Do I have to take away your modding rights, Phil? This is an abuse of power.”

**Technoblade:** Subscribe to Technoblade

“Ban him.”

**Technoblade:** Subscribe to Tommyinnit

“Nevermind. He can stay.”

**Technoblade:** Tommy guitar pog

“I’m going to ban him myself,” Tommy sighed, closing the chat and making eye contact with the camera. “Anyway, if you’re wondering whether that channel was mine—it is. And I was  _ hoping  _ that nobody was going to find it but you’re all fucking drug dogs apparently—sniffed that shit out.”

“Whoever dono-ed that video to Wilbur better ‘fess up. I’m not mad, I just want to talk,” he continued, exaggerated glare on his face. “Just kidding. It’s fine. Now I can quit playing video games and force you to listen to my music instead.”

The chat ran by, asking if he’d written music or whether he’d play for them or sending hearts the same color as his guitar. 

He did his best to answer some donos — “No,”  _ he hadn’t written any of his own music yet _ , “Yes,”  _ he planned to _ , “Yes,”  _ he would have eventually told them about the channel on his own if his guitar hadn’t decided to plummet to the ground _ . 

“Well—” he said, pulling the guitar into his lap. “Song suggestions? And don’t you fucking say Hayloft.”

_ hayloft,  _ the chat said. 

“Try again,” he answered, glaring. 

He played music for them and talked about how he’d learned — “Terrorizing Wilby” — and before he knew it, hours had passed. It was kind of surprising considering that he never managed to make it that long on his gaming streams without getting bored or running out of lore. 

“Well, I hope that I didn’t just embarrass myself in front of—” He checked the viewer count. “Holy shit! In front of 300-thousand of you. Where did you all come from?”

Predictably, none of them had a good answer. 

“Go away unless you have a prime!”

They refused to leave. 

“I’m done! No more music! Leave!”

The viewer count went up. 

“I think that I am done with the stream, actually—hope you liked it! From now on, I expect to be addressed as Tommyinnit the rockstar.”

_ rockstarinnit,  _ the chat said.  _ guitarinnit, musicinnit _

He smiled. 

“Goodnight!”

**Wilbur** Today at 11:02 pm

tommy

tommy

tommy

unban me from your chat please

**Technoblade** Today at 11:02 pm

I also expect to be unbanned

**Tommy** Today at 11:02

Suck it.

His life didn’t change drastically when his channel was discovered. He kept posting videos, albeit receiving a lot more feedback. And when he scrolled through Twitter, there were always videos of his singing waiting to autoplay and jump scare him.

His tutor fought valiantly to help him pass classes. 

Wilbur begged for hours to hear the songs he was working on, and Tommy  _ usually  _ gave in. 

He used his subgoals as bribes because it turned out that telling people you would play them guitar riffs and meme songs  _ really  _ motivated them to spend their money. 

And he kept practicing, kept getting better. 

Because someday, Tommyinnit was going to be a rockstar. 

**Author's Note:**

> if google lied and rockstar isn't 1 word I'll sue. 
> 
> note to my subscribers: I WILL UPDATE MY DADSCHLATT FIC SOON I PROMISE!! also i have another soulmate fic in the works (:
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/ghostbandaids)
> 
> let me know if you have any creative tommy oneshots you want to see! I'm leaning towards irl but i wouldn't be against dsmp prompts either. and let me know if you liked this oneshot or have any feedback! comments make me so happy <3


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